Better Together
by Atriel
Summary: Cruelty and Poise. The Dominating Traits of the Zabini Matriarch. Will Blaise live to tell the tale? How do Ginny, Pansy, and Draco figure in?
1. Chapter 1

Authors' Note: This fic is not Adrianne Zabini centric. It's a B/G story. Slytherins Abound. Only the plot belongs to me.

"Better Together"

Adrianne Zabini was a woman of balance and poise. She liked to think she kept enough pieces on the board for everything to work out exactly according to plan. She'd worked hard for years to cultivate the perfect mobile consisting of government officials (mostly blackmailed into associating with her), high society wizards (Death Eaters, Purists, and Blood traitors as well), Unspeakables (probably sent by the ministry to keep tabs on her), and even one or two key members of the Wizengamot (most of whom were in debt to her and probably feared for their lives). All of this made it that much easier to get away with her little charade.

That last idiot, Zabini - her lip curled at the very thought of the name, had given her a son, and with him, the perfect sympathy chip. But now, some three years after his fathers death, Blaise was no longer garnering the reaction she so enjoyed. Being a widow, and the mother of an infant child was one thing, but being the mother of a 4 year old boy who'd just been accepted to a prestigious wizarding school was quite another. Especially when you spent your nights gallivanting at wizarding parties, hob-knobbing with the upper crust, and seeking out the next Mr.-Unfortunately-Close-To-Coming-To-An-Untimely-Death. The balance was tipping.

Blaise was four years old now, bored out of his mind, and left to his own devices. It'd probably been decades since this wing of Zabini Manor had received visitors but the house elves hadn't let that stop them cleaning it, or dusting for that matter. Yet, suddenly, coming up here didn't seem like the brightest idea he'd ever had. He glanced back at his only friend, Samuel, the washer-woman's five year-old son, and smiled nervously.

"Maybe we should go back?" he mumbled, fidgeting as his palms started to sweat. '_Never fidget!'_ he flinched, his mother's stern voice sounding in his mind. She told him over and over, often with dire consequences.

The older boy smiled at him slyly, and belatedly Blaise saw the flaw in letting people know you were scared. If they knew you were scared you were easier to manipulate.

"Oh, come on Blaisey-poo," Sam crooned maliciously, using his mother's hated nickname for him, "We'll miss out on all the action if we go back now. My Gaffer says that the Oubliette entrance is down this way. We'll never find it if you chicken out now."

Blaise felt his resistance starting to crumble, and he shrugged, trying desperately to hide his hurt pride.

"I'm not a bloody chicken!" he murmured under his breath as he followed the taller boy down an offshoot passage. Sam carried on, oblivious, and uncaring.

All the sudden Blaise felt awfully suspicious. Sam wasn't questing about, opening doors at random, or poking his head behind tapestries and paintings, exploring like he usually did when they snuck away. This time he was walking ahead, confident in the way they were going, and not worried about getting lost either. Something was terribly wrong.

They stopped at a blank wall that looked much like any other, and Blaise's suspicions grew. Sam was looking down at him expectantly.

"Well," he said smugly, "Ladies first."

Sam went to push, but Blaise was smaller, and faster. He ducked, spun around, shoved the other boy with all his might, and took off like a shot, spurred on by the echoing sound of the other boys scream.

Lydia Littlewell and his mother found him some time later scrunched inside an ornate liquor cabinet in the formal drawing room. Neither woman looked particularly pleased.

"What've you done with my boy, you little brat!" Ms. Littlewell screeched, dragging him roughly from his hiding place. Adrianne Zabini was giving him a speculative look, and a slightly surprised one at that. She smiled calmly, but the glint in her eye was more than warning enough.

"Blaise. Where is Samuel Littlewell?" she asked.

He didn't answer, refusing to look at either of them.

"Tell me." his mother's voice was bland, but the words were like white hot metal in his ears. They promised retribution, swift and harsh consequences, and he wondered at the moment if she'd send him to Azkaban. He wondered if he'd prefer it to facing her alone, later.

"Blaise," she started again, but his frightened yell cut her off.

"He's Dead!" he screamed, "he's dead, Please!"

Lydia Littlewell went ashen. A flicker of uncommon emotion flashed across his mother's face. Whether it was satisfaction, or annoyance he couldn't tell. The only thing he did know was that the death hadn't surprised her. And his lonely world had just gotten one boy less populated.

Blaise awoke with a yell as he sat up in bed. His bed linens were on the floor, and his wand was gripped tightly in his hand. Draco was leaning against the door frame wand tip lit and hair tousled. He moved into the room, and perched precariously on the end table next to the bed.

"Nightmare," he stated sleepily. Blaise caught himself mid-nod as a sweep of irritation gripped him.

"If you knew, why didn't you wake me?" he growled, tossing an errant pillow aside as he climbed out of bed. Draco shrugged; one black eye had definitely been enough warning. He was never waking Zabini again.

Blaise flung the nearest window open and stuck his head out, breathing in the cool early morning air. It had rained tonight, and he felt himself relaxing as the trees nearby glistened with it. Adrianne Zabini had always had an unreasoning fear of rainstorms, especially those involving lightening. He shook himself lightly. She was gone now. Long dead and buried. It was only a dream.

Draco had dozed off where he leaned, propped up by the end table, legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded across his chest, wand dangling limply from his fingers. Blaise tapped him on the shoulder.

"It's four in the morning, Drake. Go back to bed. Work's not for another couple hours." Draco shrugged.

"Where are you going?" he asked as he sauntered toward the door.

"Flying," Blaise tossed over his shoulder as he tied his muggle trainers, and grabbed his broom. One disillusionment charm later he was soaring over the rain-washed rooftops of Britain, the last vestiges of his dream long gone.

When he got back, Draco had left the kettle on for him, and was making great use of the shower from the sounds of it. He was singing, which in and of itself was a very odd thing, but Blaise ignored it. He set the toaster to doing what it did best, and poured himself a cup of tea, collapsing into a nearby chair tiredly.

Draco came in, toweling his hair dry with one hand, slacks on, and shirt in the other hand. He tossed it over a handy chair, and poured himself a cup of tea, ignoring the appraising look his flat-mate was giving him.

"You know, Gin's going to be there today." Draco mumbled around the lip of his mug. Blaise deign not to comment.

"Isn't it going to be a little awkward? You haven't seen her in years. Not since -" Blaise cut him off.

"It doesn't matter. She's with Potter now isn't she? And it's only one meeting." Blaise said as he sauntered out, and undoubtedly toward the shower. Draco nabbed his toast from the toaster, and took a large bite, reaching for the jam jar.

"I have my doubts about that. All of it." Draco said as he watched Blaise's retreating form. He grabbed his shirt threw it on, and summoned his cloak with a careless spell, still munching on Blaise's toast. It was going to be an interesting day.

Ginny arrived at the Ministry running ten minutes late, with a cup of coffee firmly in her grip, and her wand pointed threateningly in front of her at anyone dumb enough to get in her way. There was a sheaf of papers gripped haphazardly under one arm, and a deadly look on her face. Ginevera Weasley was one pissed off witch.

Luna Lovegood, Editor in Chief of the Quibbler gossip rag had called upon her fire early that morning with word that Blaise Zabini, owner of practically half of Wizarding Britain, India, and the better parts of France, and Italy was going to be in today's meeting and press conference about Wizarding finance and new laws concerning international commerce. Blaise Bloody Buggering Zabini.

She'd thrown a curse at Lovegood, and rolled over intent on falling back asleep when the name sunk in. By the time she bolted out from under her covers to yell plaintively at the fire, Luna was already gone, and there was no possible way Ginny was going back to sleep.

She flung her legs over the side of the bed, found her slippers, and heaved herself up, moving toward the kettle, and her chipped mug with the vicious intent of having something hot to calm her, and possibly wake her from this horrible dream, regardless of how much hurt a scalded tongue would be later.

There was no reason for him to come walking back into her life after years and years, and damned if Luna hadn't completely ruined her morning. She took a gulp of tea, then another, draining the cup, and pouring another, not caring about the lack of sugar, or the scalding heat of the beverage sliding along her tongue. In such a state it wasn't a wonder that she hadn't realized she was late, not even that it was past time for her to be up, as her alarm clock was nigh un-hearable from the kitchen. Half an hour and one hasty shower later she was apparating to work, making a slight detour to Perk's for coffee before she found herself rushing toward her office cubicle. It was going to be one hell of a day, she thought to herself as she waved hastily at Perry Perkins, and apparated away.

The P.R. office was thronging with activity, and hushed gossip no doubt, but through the hustle and bustle no one quite dared notice the red-head, eyes blazing, who hurried past grumbling to herself around her take-away cup of morning joe. No one until Colin Creevey, who was the most annoying sort of cheery morning person was running toward her, photos clutched in one hand, and a P.P (1) clutched in the other.

She flung a hasty curse his way - which he dodged expertly - and kept walking, hoping against hope that he'd get the message. He didn't.

"Gin, we've got some stuff to review before the meeting, and the Minister sent over these pictures for approval for the new article in the Prophet. He say's you're to pick the best ones." He called at her retreating back.

She turned around. The lousy bugger was still coming, and she wondered if summoning a large file cabinet would even slow him down. Probably not, after all, he was like a particularly pea-brained dog. He just kept coming, and wagging his tail, waiting for you to take the stick or whatever else it was he'd fetched for you no matter how unwanted or slimy.

"Gin, the Minister won't be at the press conference, he's sent Parkinson and McMillan over to give his statement. And, did you hear? Blaise Zabini's coming!"

Colin never saw the filing cabinet coming, and even if he had, everyone doubted it would have done any good. A mass flinch made a wave around the room as poor Colin was steamrolled by the runaway office furnishing. Gin Weasley was in one hell of a snit this morning.

Finally reaching her cubicle she place a silencing spell on it, and a rebounding charm on the door, hoping to keep most of the less determined people at bay. She sighed quietly into the blessed silence, and put her head in her hands.

Blaise Zabini. What the hell was she going to do now?

_1. P.P. - Portable Panorama - A 2D scale viewing screen that allows live feeds, and indeed recordings to be shown on it. Similar to a muggle LCD Television_.


	2. Chapter 2

"Good Morning Gin," Harry murmured in her ear quietly, making her jump in her chair. She spun to face him.

"Harry... Right now is not the greatest time." she said slowly. He ignored her.

"I just stopped by to say hello." he stuck his hands in his pockets, his eyes widened slightly, and he pulled them out hastily, "Oh, and I wanted to give you this." he finished in a rush.

She caught the small box he'd tossed her way, and looked up quickly.

"Harry... Harry?" he'd disappeared. And not even a pop to mark his leaving either. His auror training had served him well. She dumped the box on the table, and pushed it as far away from her as she could. It couldn't be what she thought it was could it?

She sighed. Just what the bloody hell was she going to do now?

Draco knocked on the side of her cubicle, and stepped in quietly. He leaned against the desk in front of her, and smirked mutely.

"You're looking awfully pale Red." he murmured, still smirking. She sighed dejectedly and turned to face him.

"What do you want Draco?" she asked sullenly. He shrugged, knowing it would drive her nuts, and raised an eyebrow.

"It seems you've got a little gift here." he grabbed the box before she could, shook it lightly, flicked it open, and then shut it hastily.

"Red, there's a bloody large diamond in here! Is there something you want to tell me? 'Cause I'm fairly sure it's not from me." If anything, Ginevra paled more, and that worried him slightly. He'd seen her red with anger, calmly enraged (which didn't turn her a particular color, because usually she remembered to breath), and slightly pink from embarrassment, but she'd never gone pale before.

Ginny supposed the problem was that loving Harry was an inadequately incomplete thing. It wasn't incomplete in terms of them needing more time to grow together, or incomplete in terms of them still needing time to experience new things. Harry could be kind, and sweet, and understanding. He was gentle and caring, and completely oblivious. And she did love him, after a fashion.

She supposed that the only reason she wasn't deliriously happy with him was, unfortunately, that she had already felt far more for someone else.

Blaise had always been quiet, withdrawn and completely untrusting in nature. At Hogwarts he was nondescript, and completely unnoticeable. Draco had become a friend by mere chance of them being partnered in potions, and Pansy had come along as sort of a package deal.

Draco was slightly cruel, cunning, and, deep down inside, afraid of his own shadow. Of course, he was also terribly proud, and would probably never admit to any of that. However, he knew that Blaise knew, and further, he knew that Blaise wasn't about to tell anyone.

Pansy played the demure Slytherin Princess in their House, and the flamboyant Slytherin slag outside it. She used her cunning portrayals to hide her inner steel and devious intentions. Blaise liked that about her. She liked that he kept his mouth shut.

Blaise wasn't afraid of anything. Slytherin suited him because, when you'd spent 12 years of your life dodging poisons and deadly traps set by your very own mother, other things paled in comparison, and only a cunning and intelligent creature could ever hope to live through that.

In fact, the first time he'd felt real fear in years had been during his second year, when the youngest Weasley had gotten herself dragged into the bloody Chamber. He'd experienced an emotion his life had been devoid of since he was five years old.

He'd loathed it, and at first, he blamed her. But soon blame led to confusion, and confusion to one single query he was, at the time, unable to answer. Why her?

So, intent on finding out, he watched. He faded into the background of Hogwarts, and focused on her.

Pansy noticed first, but she wouldn't bring it up, and she knew Blaise would probably deny it even if she had. In the back of his mind, Blaise knew that she knew.

Draco was unaware and scornful, unknowingly paining his fellow Slytherin with acidic comments about the youngest Weasley, but he soon realized his mistake. He never apologized, but he was sure that Blaise knew he hadn't meant it. Blaise chose not to bring it up, and the secret bonded the three together, cementing their friendship.

For five long years Ginny remained oblivious to her silent watcher. Enamored of Harry, and completely wrapped up in her tiny teenaged woes, she'd never noticed, and probably never would have except that Blaise slipped up.

He'd passed her in the hall, following her in his peripheral vision, and suddenly she'd looked his way. Their eyes locked, and instantly the pain she'd felt for weeks, since Harry'd broken things off was less.

For the first time in his six years at Hogwarts someone besides Draco and Pansy noticed him. He felt naked, exposed, and full of more fear than he'd ever felt in his life.

It was a shock, and in complete break of character, he'd backed away a step. The chime sounded; they were late. The contact was broken, and he hurried on to Charms.

She stared after him for several long minutes after he'd gone, confused, and slightly worried.

Surely what she'd felt for Harry couldn't be done away with so quickly? And surely what she'd suddenly felt from that mysterious boy's gaze couldn't begin to compare? After all, she didn't even know his name. She didn't even think she'd ever seen him before.

As the bell chimed the end of class's that day she'd rushed to dinner, not bothering to wait for her chattering housemates. Students were still trickling in as she took her seat, but though she searched ever table for him, he was absent. At breakfast she'd searched again, only to find herself disappointed.

It wasn't long until she wondered if it had been her imagination. By weeks end she'd chalked it up to some specter or ghost, who haunted the fifth floor corridor. But, try as she might she couldn't help beating herself up over it. Imagining such a thing just to console herself over Harry, honestly!

Blaise, for his part, avoided her, taking meals in the common room, or if at all unavoidable, in the kitchens, during the late night, and early morning hours. Sometimes when the urge overcame him he followed her under his invisibility cloak.

There was no way he could risk her seeing him again. There was no way he could deny the strange obsession with her. Watching her was safe. Connecting with her was, though he completely loathed admitting it, all-consumingly terrifying.

Not seeing her left him feeling empty, and inexplicably alone. Blaise didn't think he had the words to explain it. Somehow he'd come to need her, somehow he'd become so dependant on her that not seeing her was painful (another emotion he was completely unfamiliar with).

For weeks he watched her search for him. It was the most thrilling thing he'd ever felt. To be missed by someone. To have someone care enough about you to search for you, it was intoxicating.

Even after months of fruitless scanning of crowds at meals, in the corridors, and in classes, when Ginny thought she'd given up he caught her, every once in awhile, searching.

The feeling slowly filled a subconscious void in him, and suddenly Blaise didn't feel like the forgettable bookworm Slytherin who seemed quiet, and aloof from everything, and spent his whole life dodging death without really remembering to live.

Suddenly sixth year had come and gone. A summer spent at Malfoy Manor whisked by in a blur of humid heat, and sun. Seventh year came upon him with N.E.W.T.S. for him to pass, and a slightly taller, browner Ginevra Weasley, alone and unfettered by the Trio any longer.

She was a Prefect this year. With Granger and Weasley gone, they'd had to fill in with more Gryffs, and Ginny had agreed when Parvati Patil hadn't returned to school and Lavender Brown had declined the position.

Blaise had trodden down hard on any feelings of pride he felt at this fact, but Ginny seemed very pleased, and he let himself be glad for her. At least he had been until she'd walked into their first prefects meeting 20 minutes early to find him trying desperately to beg off attending to and incompliant Head Mistress.

He was silently cursing McGonagall, and wishing Snape hadn't ever left, when she walked in, a stack of missives and memo's for the meeting in her arms, and he froze.

The Slytherin in him silently wished McGonagall a slow, tedious, and painful death.

"Professor, I brought all the papers from your office, I didn't know which ..." Ginny lost her voice mid sentence.

It was him! Standing there, in the flesh, and real after all. Her jaw hung limply. They stared at one another as if caught in their own personal stasis spell.

Time, and particularly McGonagall, moved on around them, but for them everything stood still. The Head Mistress continued to bustle as they stood there, oblivious.

It was only the trickle of students filing into the classroom talking, and joking quietly that broke the make-shift time warp. Ginny broke contact, blushing furiously as she took a seat with the other 5 prefects from her house.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he took his seat, never once taking his eyes off her. She flushed further under the intense gaze, but, as uncomfortable as he knew it made her, he couldn't look away.

As usual he was unnoticeable to everyone, everyone except her. Pansy fielded any questions thrown in the Slytherin's direction, and he slowly but surely began to panic.

Blaise was trapped. She knew now. He couldn't avoid her any longer, and what was worse; she'd probably be waiting for him after this very meeting. The only question left was whether to leave with everyone else, and try to lose her in the crowd, or whether to pack up slowly, and wait 'til everyone had left, finally giving in to the inevitability of the situation.

If he chose to stay behind he knew it was all over. The chimera would be shattered and he could no longer be nondescript; just another face in the crowd.

If he made a run for it though; well, he knew Ginevra; the red-head lived up to her mane, and certainly wasn't above making a scene. She knew his name now, so even if he managed to get away she'd find him. She even knew his house! Suddenly everything was falling apart. There was only one thing to do.

"Gin, love," he said waving a hand in front of her face, "you in there?" She didn't answer, didn't even move, and Draco started to panic.

It was at that moment that Rowena Reedley walked in, hands full of papers, and her jaw dropped to the floor, in what Draco would later relate to be slow motion. Papers forgotten she grabbed Ginny's hands, pulled her from her seat, and spun her around happily.

"Ginny! I'm so happy for you! Isn't it wonderful? He's finally done it, he's finally proposed!" Rowena was laughing, and hugging the slightly shorter red-head, while Draco looked on in shocked horror.

"I'm going to tell everyone! Congratulations you two!" she called over her shoulder as she tore out of the cubicle, chattering away obliviously. Ginny's face registered shock first, then horror, and finally panic(2).

Draco considered throwing a curse at the retreating witch, but thought better of it, as Ginny's breathing sped up, and she seemed on the verge of completely losing it(3).

For the first time in his life, he was wishing he'd never teased her, never even looked at her, because all his teasing, and joking about stealing her away from that oaf Potter had done was spread outrageous rumors (which admittedly at the time he'd thought were even funny, and always made funnier by the pink-tinged embarrassment on her face, and the blustering of Weasley, and Potter both).

Obviously, he'd been more than happy to help the gossip along, and keep it alive with little key phrases, and a few perfectly executed touches, and gestures. Now he was silently ruing every single flower, every box of chocolates, and every thinly veiled innuendo he'd ever thrown her way.

Things didn't look any better as he thrust aside the stupid box, ring and all, and began to shake her shoulders gently, trying desperately to snap her out of whatever it was she was caught up in. Once again he considered tracking down the little gossiping guttersnipe and using a few choice curses on her.

Only escaping Azkaban by the skin of his bottom last time stopped him. Blaise, with his impeccable timing, chose exactly that second to walk in, and he wondered if it mightn't be better to turn his wand on himself.

_2. Author Cackles madly as she writes this, it's just too deliciously wicked, and can you imagine the looks on their faces. *evil laugh* _

_3. It - noun. All cognitive function, sapient intelligence, and perhaps (though it is doubtful that humans hold very much of this, and wizards hold even less) sanity. _

A.N. – Thank you all for reviewing. I really appreciated hearing what you guys had to say about my story. I know Blaise/Ginny fics aren't very popular, but I really like this pairing, and this story just popped into my head and needed to be put down on paper. I hope you enjoy the update!

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	3. Chapter 3

Still lost in shock and in a memory where she shared much the same state with her younger self, she didn't even register either Slytherin's presence.

Of course, she hadn't even flinched back then, when McGonagall had asked her questions about the scheduled rounds she'd be required to take, but back then she'd let her mouth work on autopilot.

Part of her couldn't believe he was there. Part of her had still been angry at him, turning up after all this time. And part of her was unsure. Confusion had mingled with relief, disbelief, dread, and ... a strange sense of loss.

As she'd stared resolutely over the Head Mistress's left shoulder she could feel him watching her. His gaze had never wavered, and though knowing she was the object of such undivided attention had been slightly unnerving, surprisingly she'd found the weight of his eyes familiar and comforting.

She knew she had to talk to him. Come Hell, High Water, and Voldemort all, she would talk to him.

As the students began to pack up and file out, Blaise Zabini had felt his mouth go dry, and his usually nimble, graceful, fingers fumbled with the books he was trying desperately to put away. Ginny hadn't bothered to pack. She'd walked slowly toward him, calmly taking the last book from his nerveless fingers and setting it aside.

"Hello Blaise." she sad quietly. For the first time in years he hadn't been able to bear looking at her face. All the sudden she was too close. All the sudden he could feel her heat. He could smell her scent. If he'd deigned to taste the air around him in true snake form he was sure he could have tasted her too.

She hadn't let go of his hand, and he stared at his feet, forcing himself not to fidget, flinching slightly as Adrianne Zabini's words came back to him. She hadn't asked the obvious question yet. She hadn't asked "why her".

Yet all he could think as she led him along by the hand was "why the bloody hell not her?" She was beautiful, friendly, charismatic, kind-hearted, endearing, intelligent, radiant, strong, the list went on.

He'd opened his mouth to ask where they were going, but no sound came out. He nearly jumped out of his skin, and Slytherin pride be-damned, when she spoke to his unanswered question.

"There are still a few Hogsmeade hours left. Let's go get a drink." She kept pulling his suddenly resistant hand, completely ignoring his sudden fear.

"But... You'll be seen... with me," he said hesitantly. She shrugged.

"So?" she smiled, "It doesn't matter."

Just as flabbergasted at her words as he'd been when he'd been 18, and on the end of her tugging, he felt a sense of déjà vu when he walked into cubicle No. 129.07 and found a completely flustered Draco Malfoy trying to enervate a catatonic Ginny Weasley.

He turned around slowly, looked both ways down the corridor, and then up at the sign that hung next to the cubicle. He turned back, but the scene was still there and he wasn't sure what to do. Confident, competent Blaise Zabini felt just as lost as he had some 8 or more years ago.

"Draco?" Blaise said plaintively. He wondered vaguely what his friend was doing, shaking her like that, and if perhaps he'd been trying to strangle her and just been caught in the act, when he realized that that didn't make any sense. Of course, neither did the scene in front of him.

"Draco," he started again, "What's going on?"

Draco was just turning to explain, when a breathless Pansy Parkinson, clothed in a smart business suit, and dress robes pushed Blaise aside, and injected herself in the now crowded office cubicle.

"Draco, that bint Reedley's spreading rumors that you've proposed to Weasley!" She shouted excitedly. She took in her surroundings. Her eyes went wide, and if she'd had any less dignity, her hand would have flown to her mouth in shocked awe.

She looked from Draco to Ginny, to Blaise, and then her eyes fell on the ring box on the table. Her left hand twitched. She turned to look at Blaise and their eyes met. He looked as bad off as Ginny. Draco broke the silence.

"Potter! Potter bloody proposed, not me! I just happened to be.... admiring the ring when that awful bint walked in here! Now stop being a daft sod, and help me wake her up!" This shook Blaise out of his trance.

"You mean... she's not happy that Potter proposed?" He said slowly. Draco turned and laid both hands on Blaise's shoulders.

"Blaise, you're my mate and all, and I don't want to treat you like a small child, but would you be bloody happy if Potter proposed marriage to you?" Blaise felt that this was not the most obvious point to make, and not the best way to go about answering his question either, but all the sudden it didn't matter anymore.

Ginny laughed.

"Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha." she snickered. Then chortled, and then worked her way up to a deep belly laugh. In her defense, it was either that, or start bawling on the spot, and Ginny never really had much time for water works.

It doesn't matter.

With that simple acceptance Ginny had healed him. With that simple acceptance his resistance had crumbled, and he'd allowed himself to be lead to Madame Rosmerta's like a horse to water.

The September air had still been warm, but breezy. The cooler air had felt good against his skin, and he'd allowed himself to relax a little. She never let go of his hand, not even in Hogsmeade proper, where other students had stared, pointed, and openly gossiped.

When they'd reached the Three Broomsticks she bought two steaming mugs of Butterbeer, and a sticky looking pastry, while he'd grabbed an empty table toward the back. They'd sat in silence, sipping their Butterbeers, and the tension had slowly killed Ginny.

"So ... " she said quietly. The catch in her voice had made something uncomfortable twinge in his chest, and suddenly he'd started talking, barely above a whisper, spilling everything.

"I don't know ... I just couldn't help myself. There were all these odd feelings at first, and I was just ... intrigued. And then you were always ... there, always bright, and shining, like this beautiful spectacle, and I couldn't stop." he'd trailed off uncomfortably, not daring to look at her. He sounded like a loon.

"How long? How long before I first saw you?" she'd asked quietly.

"Years. Six years. Ever since the chamber." He'd whispered. He remembered dreading bringing it up, but it was a relief to finally admit everything. She didn't flinch like he'd expected her to. And yet, slowly another kind of fear was building inside him. What would she say now?

"Then, why did you run?" she asked slowly. She hadn't touched her pastry, as if she'd suddenly realized she wasn't hungry anymore.

"You hid from me. I thought I'd dreamed you up, or you were a ghost or something! Why didn't you ever say anything? Why didn't you ever ..." she trailed off. Just what would he have said? "Hi I'm Blaise, I'm completely unnoticeable, but I can't stop staring at you."

"I didn't really know what to say. And that day ... I just panicked. Nobody ever saw me before. Everyone else just ignores me." He'd explained.

And now, just like then nobody was paying him the least bit of attention as they watched her, concerned, confused, and oddly frightened of her laughter. Pansy was the first to speak.

"Weasley? Are you ... Alright?" she asked quietly. Ginny didn't appear to hear her. She kept on laughing until suddenly there were tears falling down her cheeks, and Pansy was there, holding the slightly smaller girl against her starched white button-up as she sobbed uncontrollably. Draco and Blaise stared.

Pansy motioned with her free hand, telling them furiously to get the hell out. They shuffled out, leaving the girls alone, and Draco peeked a glance at his friend.

"What do you suppose we're supposed to do now?" He asked in hushed tones, hoping that Blaise would be able to come up with a better idea than he had at the moment. Blaise smiled crookedly at him.

"I suppose we should go out and get a drink, in celebration of your.... proposal." he said with a quiet smile. Draco shoved him.

"Oh shut it, you know it's not like that." he started, and Blaise laughed. He sighed. It might just be a good idea to get away from here just now. No doubt, tales of his great proposal were sweeping through the Ministry, and any moment now Potter and Weasley both would hear, and be after his blood.

"Let's get that drink, shall we?" he said as they summoned their cloaks, and apparated to the nearest pub. Press conference be-damned, sometimes survival was more important.

Once Gin had calmed down, and her sobbing had subsided, Pansy pulled back a bit, holding her at arms length to get a good look at the situation.

"Feel better?" she asked quietly, and breathed a quiet sigh when the other girl nodded mutely.

"I just..." she paused, unable to continue, and Pansy nodded, patting her back soothingly.

"I know. It's all a bit much to take in." she said hesitantly, "So, Potter finally proposed?" she said quietly. It wasn't really a question. Ginny nodded.

"He tossed the ring box at me, and made a quick getaway before I had the chance to say anything. And then I was afraid to even open the damn thing." Ginny groaned. Pansy smiled.

"I always knew he had a coward lurking in there somewhere." she murmured quietly. Ginny snickered.

"I've known ever since he broke up with me fifth year. "For my own safety" my arse." Both girls laughed at that.

"I've told Draco and Blaise to clear off, and the press conference doesn't have to happen today. Monday's are always horrible anyway. What say I go postpone the conference, and we go have a quiet cup of tea somewhere, hmm?" Pansy offered. Ginny nodded, smoothing her skirt, and tidying her desk while the other girl left to tie up the loose ends.

She stared at the ring box in silence for a few seconds before shoving it in a desk drawer, and grabbing her cloak off the peg, as she left to find Pansy. Interesting didn't even begin to describe her day.

After tea Pansy made a beeline for Draco and Blaise's flat, set on perhaps forcing some sense into Blaise, and assuring Draco that no serious damage had been done, despite the rumor mill at work. She had arrived back at the Ministry to find Harry setting everyone straight, and she was sure that by tomorrow, despite the more resistant pockets of insane gossipers, most everything would return to normal.

She walked into their flat to find them talking quietly, sprawled drunkenly in their arm chairs, and she crossed her arms and tried to look stern as she approached. It was hard not to laugh, and she was sure she hadn't achieved the right effect when they greeted her with big smiles, and the offer of Fire Whiskey.

"Hey Pans, come on in, grab a chair, drink with us!" They chorused, as Blaise tried and failed to accio her a glass. She sighed, marching toward the bathroom, and the potions cabinet where she found a sobering potion, and a hang-over psotion, which she bought back with her and forced down first Draco, and then Blaise's throats. They blinked at her.

"Now that I've brought you both back to the land of the living, let's get some things straight." she told them both sternly. They blinked at her some more.

"I think we were both still very much in the land of the living before you forced vile potions down our throats, and started scolding us." Draco mumbled sullenly, under his breath. Blaise hmm'ed in agreement.

"Yes, well, I'm sure you'll be happy to know; Draco, that Potter has assured the entire Ministry that it was him who proposed to Ginny, and not you. He was shouting it from the rafter's when I left." she said. Draco's face fell.

It seemed that, despite his panic attack at the initial accusation that he'd proposed to Ginny, he really was looking forward to rubbing the supposed proposal in both Potter, and Weasley's stupid ruddy faces.

"And Blaise, you'll be happy to know that Ginny has no intention of marrying the scar-faced loser who just won't die. So, all in all, I think you've both come out of this ahead for once. Now, all you have to do is tell her how you feel." This last she directed solely at Blaise. He refused to look at her.

Draco nudged him with his foot. Blaise's eyes seemed to have found a particularly interesting speck on the floor that was so much more interesting than the conversation going on around (and often being directed at) him. Pansy's spell hit him in the chin, and he jerked his gaze up to glare at her, water dribbling down his front.

"Sorry," she murmured bemusedly, "I missed."

If Draco found the exchange amusing he hid it well. Only the gleam in his eye warned how much fun he was having.

"She's got a flat on Dowager street. She's probably still up, but you should hurry. She might fancy an early night with the day she's just had." Blaise found himself being led to the door, and pushed gently through it. He turned slowly only to have it shut and spell barred in his face.

He sighed as he made his way slowly to the alley outside their flat, and apparated away hoping that a simple point-me would help him find her place.

That night, as Ginny readied herself for bed, and was still trying desperately to wrap her head around the events of the day. It was increasingly hard to believe as she pulled back the covers to her bed, and climbed beneath them, waving her wand at the candles, and trying to force her busy mind to slow down and sleep.

She'd managed some sort of camaraderie, or (dare she say it) friendship, with Pansy Parkinson. Harry had, albeit very shoddily, proposed to her. Draco had, yet again, started another ridiculous rumor about her. And she'd seen Blaise for the first time in almost 8 years. What the hell was going on?

A knock at the door brought her out of her sleepy thoughts, and she rolled over, intending briefly to completely ignore it. She was sure that Harry, not to mention Ron, would want to talk to her, and she wouldn't even risk opening the door to find them on the other side of it.

The knocking persisted, and finally, blowing her fringe out of her eyes, she spelled it open, opting to let them come to her, knowing they'd feel guilty when they saw her all dressed, and tucked into bed.

To say that she was surprised when it was Blaise Zabini that cautiously cracked open her bedroom door and peeked inside would have been the understatement of several centuries.

It was, in point of fact, just like the time Harry had called the impending wizarding world war against Voldemort, a "piece of cake" after his previous run-in's and defeats of the Dark Lord.

Blaise cleared his throat uneasily, and stepped inside closing the door behind him, and she was too surprised to think of anything to say.

"They've locked me out." he started hesitantly, "Pansy and Draco I mean. I don't think I'm to come back until I've talked to you." she stared at him wide eyed.

"I don't really know what to say. It was nice to see you today... Despite the... tears... and... everything else." He wanted to hit himself over the head with something, but there was nothing at hand, and he knew it would only make him look even more insane if he did.

"I'm sorry about earlier." she started quietly, "I just... there was so much hitting me at once. I didn't mean to fall apart like that. I'm not usually a crier." she trailed off.

"It's alright. I imagine finding yourself supposedly engaged to Draco would be enough to turn any girls head, not to mention having Potter spring marriage on you too." Blaise said.

She nodded slowly. It wasn't the laugh he'd expected, but at least she hadn't thrown him out.

"Erm, Blaise? Do you think you could come in and sit down or something? It's very awkward to talk to you when you're way over there." Blaise didn't move for a moment. He shouldn't intrude. But he couldn't possibly offend her by not complying. Finally he sat on the edge of her bed, gingerly allowing his weight to sink into the mattress.

"So..." he started. She sighed.

"Things didn't really work out so well after all, did they?" she smiled sadly. His hands twitched traitorously, but he balled them resolutely into fists, and kept them in his lap.

"No, I suppose not." he murmured quietly. She shifted, pushing the covers away, and crawled over to sit next to him.

"Not much has changed in all theses years has it?" she said quietly. He shook his head.

"Blaise, back then, when you kissed me, did you mean it?" she whispered. He shot her a surprised glance.

Of course he'd meant it! Of course he had. Every single second of it!

"Yes," he whispered, "I did." the tense silence engulfed them once more. Suddenly Ginny couldn't take it anymore.

"Then, after, how come you didn't talk to me again? I mean, we'd become friends, sort of, right? And then just before your Graduation day, you kiss me, and never talk to me again? I thought you regretted it." she said simply. He could hear the emotion in her voice, all the pain, and fear, and confusion, and it stung him.

"I'm sorry." he said quietly. She barely heard his next words.

"I just thought... maybe I'd ruined our friendship. I didn't want you to hate me. So I left before I could find out if you did. But I could never regret kissing you. Not because it was you I was kissing. I regretted messing up our friendship. I just didn't know how to fix it. I've never been much good at making friends." she listened closely to his explanation, and nodded silently.

"I was mad at you for leaving for a long time. But after awhile I was just sad that you'd left. And when Harry came back, I figured it'd just be easier. Everyone thought we should be together. Even though deep down I knew things had changed, and I didn't love him like that, I thought... that I'd never see you again."

"But now, even though you've been together all this time, you don't want to marry him." Blaise said. She nodded, sighing quietly.

"I put it off, we never talked about marriage, and I was never comfortable with it. I felt bad. Harry deserves to be able to have a family. He's been cruelly denied one his entire life, but..."

"You were afraid of being alone. And regretted ever talking to me." He finished. She cut him a sharp glance, and did something that surprised them both.

Ginny grabbed his face in both her hands, and turned him to face her, meeting his gaze firmly. She looked intently into his eyes for several moments before she spoke.

"I could never regret that. For the short time we were together, you were one of my best friends." she spoke with such conviction that, despite his distrusting nature, he believed her. And for the first time in years, he wasn't just pretending at being content. For the first time since that gut wrenching day he'd kissed her, he was happy.

"Listen, it's been a long day. I've got a guest room down the hall a bit where you can stay. We can talk more about this tomorrow, after the press conference. C'mon, I'll get you some clean linen." And just like that, just like 8 years ago, she grabbed his hand, and led him along, never wavering, or unsure. He smiled slightly. This was one of the things he loved most about her. Her forgiving, accepting nature went well beyond the bounds of normal patience. Most people didn't see it, but, to a select few, Ginny had an ungodly amount of patience, and love, and he considered himself extremely lucky to be receiving it, even for a second. Somehow, just like that things were okay again.

The next morning's press conference went off without a hitch, and although Ginny had to rely heavily on Draco, the other Press Secretary assigned to this particular assignment, she found she really didn't mind. Pansy was her usual efficient self, and Blaise said his few words without any untoward comments, much to her relief. The question segment of the conference came and went, and Ginny retreated after to the quiet sanctuary of her cubicle where she calmly wrote out a note to Harry, attached the ring box, and made her way to the Press Department's Post queue. Then she calmly walked back to her office, finished her paperwork, and grabbed her cloak, heading toward home, or a drink, whichever presented itself first.

She stepped out of the Ministry to find Blaise waiting, leaning against the door of a particularly sleek looking muggle auto. She smiled despite herself.

"Do you actually know how to drive that thing?" she called, stuffing file folders into her bag hurriedly. He laughed, a clear, clean sound that warmed her heart slightly. It'd certainly been years since she'd heard that sound.

"Well, hop in, and we'll find out." he challenged. She climbed in the passenger side, and he chuckled.

"What, no seatbelt?" he asked smirking; "You know, usually I've got a muggle driver along." she paled, scrabbling for the seatbelt clasp.

He smiled as he released the clutch and hit the gas, speeding out into the rainy night with her suggesting above the roar of the engine that he slow down. It didn't even matter much to him at that moment, because, no matter what, he knew that they were better together.

Fin.


End file.
